


the wild hour, black and full of thunder

by cirque



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragonstone, Female Friendship, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: "He ought to name her. She will be his triumph.""Yes, but she is your triumph too. You say we are all warriors - well, childbirth was your battle. The storm is your army, it is cheering even now."





	the wild hour, black and full of thunder

Elia has never enjoyed life on Dragonstone, though the deadly alternative makes the discomfort worthwhile. The baby will not settle, no matter what she or the nurses try, though Elia can hardly blame her - the storm has them all sleepless.

Rhaella protests at spending her days abed; she wants to assist in preparations for their journey to Dorne, fever be damned. Elia touches cold cloths to her head and neck to abate the fever but Rhaella grows warmer all the same, and a pain swells throughout her entire body. There is little any of them can do to help. It has been eight days since the baby was born, but still, the fever tries her body.

The nurses suspect childbed fever, though Elia forbids them to let the queen hear it. "It's the storm is all," She tells her. "We're all suffering."

Rhaella shakes her head with sudden strength. The queen is no fool: she has birthed enough babes to know when something is wrong. Elia won't hear it aloud though, she won't allow herself to admit the truth of their situation.

"Hush Your Grace, I beg of you. Sleep now." It is the dead of night, but still, the storm rages on.

"How can I sleep when we have so much to do?" Rhaella's voice is ragged, still worn from her shouts of pain, and her body shakes with the chills. Even Elia can see that the queen is getting worse, not better. It had not been so difficult for her, not even with Aegon.

"They mustn't get hold of Viserys, they mustn't." Rhaella's eyes struggle to focus. "You must promise me, my lady, you must protect him, and the baby, as if they were your own."

"Of course my queen." Elia has children of her own and no home to speak of, no husband and no security. She is preparing for a frantic journey across the sea in the thin hope of reaching her brothers before the Usurper's men reach her. She can scarce guarantee the safety of her own children but she cannot refuse Rhaella, cannot refuse the tiny little girl who is still lacking a real name.

Rhaella sighs at her assurance. "This war has made warriors of us all. We all must struggle."

"Yes, my queen."

"When the king returns you must bring him to me immediately. He will be anxious to hear of the babe."

"I will Your Grace," Elia says, though they had received news of the king's death several months past. It will do no good to tell Rhaella otherwise.

"He ought to name her. She will be his triumph."

"Yes, but she is your triumph too. You say we are all warriors - well, childbirth was your battle. The storm is your army, it is cheering even now."

The queen does not respond. Her eyes flicker shut and she tries to turn her body away from the bright shock of lightning that tears through the sky.

Rhaella's face has been pale for as long as Elia has known her, sapped of what little color her Valyrian looks allowed. The fever has given her a divine glow now, an ire to match the storm, a redness fierce enough to befit a Targaryen.

She burns to the touch though, and Elia feels the weight of the decision she must soon make - continue to allow Rhaella to recover her health, however vain that hope may be, or flee immediately to Dorne and hope that she survives the journey.

There is a small part of her that wishes to flee to her childhood home and damn the consequences. She longs for her brothers and her little niece; for warm days and real safety. She longs for Aegon to take his first steps in the sand, and for Rhaenys and Arianne to play together. There is little security in this world, she has long since learned, but what little there is lies in family. In the Water Gardens, her son need not be the heir of a tattered dynasty.

Rhaella shivers beneath the blankets. "It's so cold," She chatters through shaking lips. "And that blasted rain is so loud."

"Take a drink, my queen." Elia offers her herbal tea in a goblet, and the queen sips gratefully.

Afterward, she leans back against the high pillows with a wince. "Thank you, Joanna. Such a dutiful girl."

She is asleep before Elia can question her.

 

In her chambers, the crashing of the sea beating a dull rhythm against the castle walls, she watches her daughter sleep. Viserys and Rhaenys share a modest room at Rhaella's request. She did not want her son to be alone, did not trust him with any of the servants.

Viserys looks to her for answers, always questioning. "How is my mother tonight?" He ought to be long asleep, but his small face is furrowed as he watches her composure for clues.

It is a crime to lie to a prince, or even a boy-king. "Not well, I am afraid."

He does not allow himself to cry but he does tug at his blankets all the same. Elia had wanted to spare him this, had wanted him to accept her empty promises that everything would be fine.

"She is going to die." His voice is flat and empty.

"It is possible."

"No, I know it. I am the king now." He is such a little boy, thin and wry where Rhaegar was muscle. He looks even tinier in his bedclothes, his pale hair rebelling against its knot. "I must have the truth."

"She is quite unwell, and worse by the day."

Viserys took a shallow breath, but still, he did not cry. "I am going to be the last of us. I know it."

"You are not the last Your Grace, you have a sister."

"A baby!" He rolled his eyes. "What good is a baby? They're going to hunt us like boar."

"Yes, they will try. But still, you have her. And Rhaenys and Aegon."

He scowls at her words. "Children! We shall have our very own army of wet nurses. An infantry of infants!"

"They will grow, Your Grace. They are Targaryen all the same, and when you are all grown there will be four of you to take back what the Usurper has stolen. Together, you can be strong."

He considers this, his little brow trembling. He is still so very young, Elia thinks, and so afraid.

"You are not alone Viserys. There are still those who are loyal to you, who will come to your aid. You still have supporters, you still have family." She tickles his ribs. "And you still have me."

Viserys had never thought much of Elia, nor she of him. He had been a sullen prince in King's Landing, too much like his father, but on Dragonstone he is a frightened child, crown or not.

Viserys curls under the blankets with a small smile. She touches his hair and kisses his forehead, as she does for her own boy each night. "Do you think you can sleep now?"

He nods and whispers goodnight before closing his eyes.

Elia would leave the Targaryens in a heartbeat, leave them to fight over a lost throne in a war of their own making, but Viserys is no more at fault than Aegon. There are men who will hunt him wherever he goes, but she cannot bear to abandon him. She cannot leave him alone in the world. It will ruin him, she knows, even if he makes it out alive.

**Author's Note:**

> first fic for this fandom, first fic in like 3 years lmao oops
> 
> title from a quote by Charlotte Bronte because why not


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